


the unexamined life

by cumaeansibyl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Body Image, Consensual Non-Consent, Glove Kink, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, I've yet to write anything WITH plot but by all means let's be thorough, Insecurity, Medical Kink, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Examinations, Roleplay, They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Touch-Starved, but no one is being mean to him it's all internal, but y'know... not really, in other words: Aziraphale's canon-typical softness issues, oh right this is also, very very mild but I tag because I care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25653766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumaeansibyl/pseuds/cumaeansibyl
Summary: For a touch-starved angel, Heaven's mandatory corporation inspections can get a little overwhelming. Especially when the "new tech" seems determined to make averythorough job of it...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 218





	the unexamined life

**Author's Note:**

> I've tagged "consensual non-consent" for some mild trope-typical "oh goodness, doctor, is this really standard procedure" roleplay and the associated misuse of authority. This is all negotiated beforehand, but better safe than sorry.

“Aziraphale,” the technician called from the door. 

The angel sighed as he stood, looking around the empty waiting room. They put him through the mandatory corporation exam every time he came back to Heaven, but he’d never had the same tech twice — not, he supposed, that they’d remember him if he had. They were never cruel, but they tended toward the brusque, being accustomed to checking in unoccupied corporations after short-term use. He didn’t expect them to _care_ , exactly, but even a bit of meaningless small talk would have made him feel less like an unwanted task, to be hurried through with gritted teeth.

Today’s technician was tall and lean, with dark red hair bound neatly at the nape of their neck and a narrow, intense face half-hidden behind their clipboard. Aziraphale, as always, sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t embarrass himself. “Hello,” he said, not expecting a response.

“Interesting,” the tech said, closing the exam room door behind them. “It says here this corporation has been on earth for over three thousand years. They’ve never had you trade it in?”

“No.” The tech’s golden eyes looked Aziraphale up and down, and he was already flushing, Almighty help him. “I suppose they thought, well, it’s been working fine —”

“No impaired joint function? Skin’s keeping all your inside bits in and everything else out?”

“No, I mean yes, I mean… no to the first, yes to the second.”

“Right.” The clipboard clattered onto the counter and the tech drew a pair of gloves from the pocket of their white tunic. “The longest I’ve ever seen a corporation used was about three years,” they explained, tugging the gloves onto their long, narrow hands, interlacing their fingers and sliding them together to pull the material taut. “I’m really quite curious to see how this one’s held up after so long. Clothes off, please.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and his clothes appeared neatly folded in a pile next to the tech’s clipboard. The air in Heaven wasn’t supposed to have a temperature, really, but he felt a chill nevertheless as the tech ran those bright eyes over his body, and he braced himself for the upcoming ordeal.

The examination began normally: the tech listened to his heart and lungs, flashed a light in his eyes and ears, and poked around in his mouth. Their fingers were thin and firm, cool through the gloves. They pressed in under his jaw, palpated his neck, then fanned out over his shoulders and ran down his arms with a firm pressure that made his muscles tingle. Aziraphale swallowed and looked away. It was absolutely impossible, he knew, to ask them to do that again — nothing more than that, nothing _lewd_ , only there was always a low almost-ache under his skin these days, a half-numb, half-restless feeling, and that brisk touch seemed to pull it right out of him. This was why the examination was in one way his favorite part of his visits to Heaven, and in another way the second-worst part, behind only the times Gabriel made himself unpleasant. He longed for the touching to continue, and he trembled with the effort of hiding that longing.

“Arm up, please,” the tech said, lifting his left wrist. “Over your head, that’s right. Good.” They poked three fingers deep into his armpit, slid them across his chest, and then cupped their hand under the small, soft swell of his left breast. Aziraphale stiffened and looked away. Heaven wasn’t supposed to judge these things, especially not between angels, but he knew what the others thought of his heavy thighs, his round belly and well-padded chest. He didn’t want to see the inevitable distaste on the tech’s thin face, but he couldn’t help a glance. He found them fully absorbed in how his flesh moved under their fingers as they pressed and stroked, their eyes intent and gleaming. Aziraphale swallowed, his throat dry.

The tech took hold of Aziraphale’s nipple between thumb and first two fingers, gave a testing squeeze, then began rubbing it in slow circles, latex dragging against Aziraphale’s skin. Aziraphale stifled a groan — the friction was strange and exquisite, the pressure perfectly firm. Heat flashed through his entire body even as his skin broke out in goosebumps. This had never been part of the assessment before; ought he to say something? But surely there was nothing _wrong_ about it, just unusual. Nothing to be concerned about — if he could just keep himself from reacting.

“Hmm.” The tech looked up at his face, which chose that exact moment to go warm and pink. “Very good. Other arm, please.” Aziraphale switched obediently, and the tech stroked up and down the sensitive underside. Their fingers gripped his right breast, more firmly this time, rubbing and massaging around the edges of his pectoral muscle. Their palm brushed just the tip of Aziraphale’s nipple, back and forth as their hand moved. He bit his lip and tried to think of anything else, but then those dexterous fingers started rolling his right nipple and he knew he was going to lose the battle.

“I say,” Aziraphale managed.

“Yes?” Their eyes were very sharp.

“This, ah… I don’t recall this being a part of the last exam.”

“Oh, they probably just forgot. It’s not standard procedure for uninhabited corporations.”

“... I see.”

“Just relax, everything’s in order.” They cupped his chest in both hands now, squeezing lightly and lifting, comparing, before flattening their hands and drawing them slowly down his stomach. The gloves dragged against his chest and stomach hair, almost tugging it a little, and Aziraphale shivered. “We’ve taken excellent care of this corporation, haven’t we? It’s in remarkably good shape for how long you’ve had it.”

“Well, er. I do try to maintain it...” Aziraphale’s stomach twisted with embarrassment as the tech tapped at his belly with two fingers, listening intently. “I suppose ‘good shape’ isn’t really the word for it, though.” He tried for a dismissive chuckle, no feelings to see here, but it came out as a flat “ha ha” and he winced. _Now_ the tech would look at him with disgust, if only for his substandard wit.

“Shape? I don’t… oh, one of those human things, is it?” The tech laid one hand on each side of Aziraphale’s belly, pressing gently, just holding it. “They have odd notions down there. You’re a fine figure — strong and healthy.”

“Oh, er, thank you,” Aziraphale said, flushing at the praise and then lecturing himself for his absurdity. It was barely even a compliment, just the sort of meaningless thing people will say to anyone, why was he such a mess about these things?

The tech nodded absently, already moving behind Aziraphale to look at his back. They squeezed at the tops of his shoulders, dug their fingertips into the trapezius muscles — “some tension here,” they noted, as if he hadn’t just squeaked — and then pressed firmly on each side of his spine with their thumbs, feeling the vertebrae. Their fingers spread out across his back, kneading gently at the pads of fat over his shoulder blades, slipping into the creases where the skin folded under at the waist. There was nothing perfunctory about their touch, no sign of reluctance, only a soft and thorough attention that lit Aziraphale up everywhere those confident fingers went.

“All right,” the tech said, and Aziraphale had to blink hard to pull himself back from the half-daze he’d fallen into. “Lean over the table, please.” Oh, this was possibly the worst part. There was absolutely nothing romantic about this bleak white-and-stainless room, but the act was still so wretchedly, irresistibly _intimate_ you couldn’t help imagining what it might be like with a lover: someone nestling up behind you, sliding gentle fingers down your spine, whispering in your ear —

“This will be a little cold.” A lubricated finger pressed against Aziraphale’s anus and he almost yelped. A _little_ cold, really! Did they keep the stuff in the icebox? The finger stroked back and forth across the soft little pucker with the gentlest possible pressure, and he relaxed a little, almost in spite of himself. As the lubricant warmed, a subtle heat stole into his belly with it. He tried to steady his breathing. This was fine, it didn’t feel _that_ good, he could control himself.

“Good, that’s just right, deep breaths,” the tech said, putting their other hand on the small of his back. “Little stretch now. Breathe…” and the finger slipped in, pressing against the tight ring of muscle at Aziraphale’s entrance. Knowing how hard it was to force oneself to relax, Aziraphale tried not to think about what was happening at all, but the tech was in no hurry, it seemed, to go further. They rubbed at the smooth, slippery flesh with a gentle persistence, impossible to ignore. Aziraphale felt it giving way, little by little, even as his thighs tensed and his fingers clenched on the table. 

“Easy now,” the tech said, and another fingertip joined the first, stretching and massaging the soft flesh of his rim. His cock stirred between his legs, and he gritted his teeth. The slick pressure just inside him would have been mildly pleasant on its own, but the way those hands had touched his body, stroking, seeking, waking up parts of him he’d tried to keep dormant… he was already shivering on the verge of too much, just from this, yet unable to wish or ask for it to stop.

The tech’s hand rubbed his back, a rote soothing motion. “ ‘Nother deep breath,” they said, and when Aziraphale exhaled they slid their fingers all the way into him with shocking ease — his mind was conflicted but his body had no compunctions, only needs. A fingertip glanced against his prostate and he gasped. 

“Oh my,” he said weakly, and leaned further forward, hiding his growing erection under the table. The steel edge dug into his soft lower belly, and the cold discomfort grounded him for a moment. He leaned into it, hard, trying to force his ridiculous body into submission.

“Little sensitive, are we? That’s all right, that’s just fine,” the tech said, finding his prostate with both fingers now. Aziraphale let out another little _oh!_ and the tech patted his back before crooking their fingers and rolling them back and forth firmly, sending a stunning wave of pleasure through his body. He cried out in earnest, fighting to stay on his feet.

“There we are, that’s just the ticket.” The tech patted him again, leaning over him to get a look at his face. Aziraphale tried to turn away, but they craned their neck, following. “You’re doing beautifully.”

“I — I —” Aziraphale stammered, tears starting at the corners of his eyes. The tech raised their eyebrows, and then, oh God, looked down at where he was pushing against the table. 

“Oh, I see,” they said. “We’ve gone and gotten a head start on the next bit, haven’t we?”

“The — next bit?” Aziraphale’s face burned red. “I don’t — I’m so sorry, I —”

“Come on, then, let’s have a look at it.” Their fingers withdrew, making Aziraphale whimper. Their other hand came up to his chest and lifted him gently from the table. Its edge had left a white line across his stomach, and below that, exposed to that golden gaze, so shameful —

But the tech just smiled. “Oh, that’s brilliant,” they said. Their hand left his chest, and then it was spreading thick, chilled lubricant down the hot shaft of his prick. 

“Cold!” Aziraphale gasped in shock, his bollocks pulling up tight. He heard the tech let out an amused breath. Their hand cupped his sack, rolling his balls between fingers and thumb, feeling their shape and texture. The gentle pressure was perilously good, even through the cold, and Aziraphale moaned in the back of his throat.

“Brilliant,” the tech said again, tracing the veins that stood out on his shaft. A gentle fingertip stroked up and down his slit before dipping under the soft ruffled foreskin, finding and testing the sensitive spot hidden there. Aziraphale whimpered, and they nodded in satisfaction. “Very fine condition,” they said. “How often do you engage in self-stimulation?”

“Oh, I — I don’t,” Aziraphale said. The tech shook their shining red head.

“Really? That’s surprising,” they said, a smile lurking in their eyes. “You do know how, right? Just grasp it like this —” their thin fingers, so delicate in appearance, gripped Aziraphale’s cock with remarkable firmness — “and apply friction, like this.” The slow, slippery pull sent a long shudder through Aziraphale’s body and he had to grab the table again to stay upright.

“Are you sure,” Aziraphale started, because it didn’t seem possible for anything in Heaven to feel this good, and then the tech slid their fingers back up his arse in one decisive push. The sudden stretch made him gasp and arch his back, but it was so good to be filled again, to be held so firmly. 

“Quite sure,” the tech said softly. “We’ve needed this, haven’t we?” They found his prostate again and began rubbing it in the same methodical way, stretching his rim deliciously with every flexing push of their fingers. Their other hand took up the same pace, massaging his hard prick. The tech watched his face intently, their eyes shining, lips parted in concentration.

“It’s so much.” Aziraphale’s head dropped forward and he gasped for breath, rocking forward into the grip on his cock, backward into the pressure on his prostate. “It’s so — I can’t —”

“Hold still.” Their voice was full of quiet authority and Aziraphale, to his astonishment, obeyed, muscles quivering with the strain. “Deep breaths for me. That’s just right.” They worked his body between their precise, skillful hands, the pace so steady and easy that Aziraphale found himself relaxing into it. He could feel the tech breathing with him, encouraging him to slow down, to prolong the experience. His body submitted to that rhythm as the deep, profound pleasure built within him, gradual and inexorable. It swelled up into his chest and throat with every breath, buzzing and tingling, filling him further every time he thought he’d reached his body’s limit until he was sure he would burst with it.

“I think —” Aziraphale whispered at last, feeling a sudden, powerful tension grip his belly and thighs. “ _Oh —_ ” 

“There we are,” the tech whispered in his ear, “that’s right, come on now,” and he was coming in great wet spurts over the table, shuddering, ecstatic. The tech’s hands worked him relentlessly as he convulsed between them, pinning him down and wringing him dry until he was nothing but a body, made for nothing but this total release.

He drifted at last, so completely free from worry that he barely noticed he’d left his feet before he landed on a soft horizontal surface, cradled in warmth.

“Sorry to skimp on the after-play,” Crowley said after a while, “but I had no idea how that conversation was supposed to go.”

“Mm-hmm,” Aziraphale said, because it was indeed much nicer to skip all the cleanup and go straight to their bedroom, with Crowley petting his hair as he enjoyed the afterglow.

“Does it really work? This whole, whatever we call it, sexy catharsis bit.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say it’s resolved my self-esteem issues on the spot,” Aziraphale said, “but I feel just wonderful.” He sat up a little. “Bringing them in like this doesn’t bother you, does it? You mustn’t let me talk you into things you don’t enjoy.”

“Nah, it’s all right for a game. Not like I haven’t seen you getting down on yourself before, anyway.” Crowley shrugged. “Just… you know me, I like to know what you get out of stuff.”

“And what it might be like, if you gave it a try?” Aziraphale asked.

“Eh…” Crowley pressed his lips into a nervous line. “Maybe? Dunno if there’s much material for fun sex games in Hell, though. It’s just kind of grotty.”

“Hmm, yes, the smell alone is an obstacle.” Aziraphale pondered. “I don’t suppose you’d want me wearing some sort of animal hat.”

“Well, I didn’t until you said that.” Crowley laughed, the worry leaving his face, and leaned in to kiss him. “As long as I get to pick the animal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please send me pictures of what animal hat you think Crowley would pick. Bonus if it's a [cat hat](https://ekabuki.com/products/bear-hat-for-cats-kawaii-kawaii-neko-kuma-chan). (This in no way constitutes an agreement, express or implied, to write animal hat sex. I physically cannot contemplate that right now. Neurons are refusing to fire.)
> 
> For the record, I do know that people don't use latex gloves in an actual medical setting anymore. Aziraphale and I have some old-fashioned notions about kink.
> 
> Many thanks to [Fuuma_san](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuuma_san) for another great beta, and to my beloved [voidbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidbat) as always for reminding me that I am cool and rad even if I'm also confused and tired.
> 
> Come see me on [tumblr](https://cumaeansibyl.tumblr.com)!


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